


Flirting

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [17]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bad Flirting, F/M, Gen, Gen Work, M/M, Mild Fluff, Oghren being... Oghren, wingman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 09:24:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2727197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theron is roped into being the most confused wingman ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flirting

“There she is! I’m gonna go talk to her. Look, you gotta back me up here, got it?”

Theron looked down at the bearded dwarf in surprise, and then glanced back at Zevran, who was hovering innocently by the tavern door. The rest of the group were back in the camp; Oghren had told Theron about Felsi the previous night, and as much as he’d tried to get out of it the dwarf had insisted they return to the tavern before they left the Circle Tower behind entirely. The ranger still wasn’t sure why Zevran had decided to come along.

“What do you mean, ‘back you up’?” He asked blankly.

Oghren looked up at the Dalish elf, and smiled faintly.

“Just… Heh, follow my lead, you know?”

Theron looked over at the dwarven woman at the other end of the small tavern, sweeping the floor with a broom that was almost as big as her.

“Maybe I should talk to her first. She might have a husband by now, it’s been a while since you saw her, right?”

“Okay, that’s a good idea. We don’t want to make a scene here… Well, a little scene’s all right.”

“So it’s fine for Oghren to cause a scene in public, but not I?” Zevran muttered from behind them both. Theron pretended that he hadn’t heard that.

“Find out how much she misses old Oghren, or who I have to kill, and then I’ll sweep her off her feet.” The dwarf chuckled, looking up at the taller elf expectantly. Theron resigned himself to his fate - Oghren had moved to stand between him and the door, anyway - and walked over to the brunette.

 

“What can I get for you?” Felsi asked, looking up when the ranger awkwardly cleared his throat. “Don’t say mead, we ran out of that a week ago. Or rum, either. Ran out of that the day before yesterday. And don’t say brandy.” The Dalish elf opened his mouth, about to respond, when the innkeeper noticed them.

“Felsi! I need tables clean, girl!” He snapped briskly, eyes narrowed as he looked at Theron. “And you were in here the other night, weren’t you? With that apostate who froze half my wall and the dwarf who drank all of my best stock.”

“Nope, never been here before in my life, ser. Sounds like I missed a lot of the fun, though.”

“I’ve got a customer.” Felsi added, looking Theron up and down curiously.

“Your name’s Felsi?” Okay, that was a good start. Perhaps.

“Aye. Who wants to know?” She asked, setting the broom against the wall behind her and folding her arms.

“I’m a friend of Oghren’s.”

“And you admit it?” Felsi sounded oddly amused. “You get kicked in the head by a bronto?”

Theron shook his head, fidgeting with his bow. “What happened between you two?” He asked.

“What happened? Is that a serious question? Have you _met_ Oghren?” The dwarf asked.

“Sadly, yes.”

Felsi let out a deep, weary sigh, and began to explain. “He got drunk - drunker than usual, even. Took off his pants and challenged a roast nug to a wrestling match at my father’s funeral. He lost, by the way. The roast got him in an arm lock, and he sat there crying for half an hour before someone pulled it off him.”

Theron had to fight the urge to laugh at the mental image. Later.

“... How did he lose to a piece of meat?”

“It was a sodding good roast!”

The innkeeper looked over at them again, and frowned.

“Felsi, what in Andraste’s name are you doing! The tables, girl!” He said, and from the look he gave Theron it was clear he was close to being kicked out.

“All right! I’ve got to get back to work.” Felsi sighed, picking her broom up again. Theron nodded, and hurried back over to Oghren and Zevran before he could raise the innkeeper’s ire any further.

 

“Well, what’d she say?” Oghren asked hopefully when Theron returned. The ranger hesitated, and licked his lips.

“She… Hasn’t exactly forgiven you for the, uh, nug incident.” He fought the urge to laugh again, but felt his lips twitch up in a smirk regardless. Zevran raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued.

“Ahh, that fight was rigged.” The dwarf huffed dismissively. “Anyway, the guards said it wasn’t worth pressing charges. So she’s no call to hold a grudge. Did she say anything else?”

Theron shook his head again. “No. Go get her.”

“Just be ready to pry her off me when she throws herself at me.” Grinning like he’d just gotten access to the rest of the inn’s alcohol, Oghren walked over, and Theron reluctantly followed, lingering a few steps behind.

“Are you sure you’re not a baker? ‘Cause you’ve got a sodding nice set of buns.”

The ranger cringed, and he could hear Zevran let out a noise of despair in the background. Felsi frowned and stopped working again.

“Oghren, is that you?”

“In the flesh, baby.” The dwarf grinned, looking rather proud of himself. It seemed like he was actually puffing his chest out a little.

“What are you doing here?”

Oghren shrugged, examining the back of one gauntleted hand in a display of exaggerated nonchalance. “Just trying to kick back with a pint. Fighting darkspawn’s a lot of sodding work, you know?”

“ _You’re_ fighting darkspawn?” Felsi sounded distinctly unimpressed.

Theron kept quiet, wondering if he could slowly back away to join Zevran and leave Oghren to it.

“Well, someone’s gotta do it, you know. Can’t leave a Blight to the humans; they’ll just muck it all up.” Oghren pointed out, and the Dalish elf couldn't help nodding in agreement.

Felsi shook her head, exasperated.

“The whole surface, and you _happened_ to come to my tavern?” She asked.

“Er… Well…” Oghren hesitated.

“Tell her it’s fate.” The ranger hissed.

“Huh? Oh, right, right. It’s fate, Felsi. Er, what can I say?”

“The ancestors must have a sense of humour, then.”

“Sure they do! You’re had a good look at Lady Helmi, haven’t you? If her face isn’t a joke the ancestors are playing, I’m a bronto’s behind.”

“So, Lady Hemli must be a Paragon of beauty, then.”

Theron bit the inside of his cheek before he laughed aloud.

“Tell her you’ve been thinking of her?” He suggested. That tended to be a good thing to say to women, right?

“I’ve been thinkin’ about you, Felsi.”

Oh, that sounded so wrong when _Oghren_ was the one saying it...

“What do you want, Oghren?”

“Nothin’. Just thought I’d see how you were doing, is all.” Oghren replied, sounding mildly defensive. Theron raised an eyebrow. “Well, maybe that and grease up the bronto, if you know what I mean.” Ah, there it was. Oghren really was a charming specimen.

“You’ve seen me. Now you’ll have to head back to Orzammar for the bronto.”

“Surely Oghren’s more fun than the men around here?” The ranger interjected, glancing around at the sole two other patrons and the innkeeper who was glaring at them still.

“If by ‘fun’ you mean ‘more likely to light farts on fire’, yes.”

“Oh.”

“Ah well. It’s been fun, Felsi, but I better go.” Oghren sighed, making as if he was going to turn away and walk off.

“You’re leaving? You just got here. I haven’t called you a shaft-rat yet…”

“A what?” Theron asked blankly.

“You can’t keep the Archdemon waiting.” Oghren sighed, shaking his head. “Hurt it’s feelings, and it might just turn the whole Blight around and go home. Nobody wants that.”

“I’d like that very much.” The Dalish elf sighed wistfully.

“Well, you don’t need to go fight it right now, do you? You could have a pint first. You could call me a surly bronto, I could tell you that you smell like nug droppings…”

Theron looked between the two dwarves in rapidly growing confusion.

“I’ve got some things I gotta do first, but I’ll come back for that pint when things’re settled. You frigid deepstalker.”

“You better not keep me waiting, you worthless copper-plated sword-caste.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Oghren chuckled, and walked away. Theron trailed after him, thoroughly bemused.

“Heh, I still got it.” The dwarf grinned, looking very proud of himself.

“Wait, that was a success?” Theron asked, frowning.

“Don’t you know anything about women, elf?”

Zevran grinned widely, and even snickered at that question. Theron looked down at his feet, trying to hide his blush. Not that the dwarf seemed to notice.

“You gotta make them wait, play hard to get.” Oghren advised, and he glanced back at Felsi. “You ready to go?”

“Let’s go.” Theron nodded.

Oghren strode out of the tavern, a lot more upbeat than he normally was. Theron glanced back at the brunette, who had moved onto cleaning the tables, and shook his head.

“That was _flirting_? Name-calling and insults?” He asked Zevran, who chuckled once more as he put his arm around the ranger’s shoulder and steered him out the inn and after the dwarf, back up the hill to the camp.

“For Oghren, yes. At least, I assume so. I think I really have spoiled you, _mi amor_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Theron's train of thought for the rest of the night was something along the lines of "I'm not even sure what just happened or why Oghren picked /me/ of all people to tell him how to flirt with a woman??"  
> Then he remembered the roast nug story and the rest of the group mysteriously couldn't look at Oghren without almost laughing for the next week.


End file.
